
THE • FLIGHT 
_oT- R.OSX _ 
■ DAWN 1 


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GenCol 1 


PAULI N E-BRADFORDM ACK1E 


COSY CORNER SERJES 




Copyright N? F"JL/ 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS 


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THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


Works of 

Pauline Bradford Mackie 

£ 

Mademoiselle de Berny 

A Story of Valley Forge 

Ye Lyttle Salem Maide 

A Story of Witchcraft 

A Georgian Actress 
The Washingtonians 
& 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
200 Summer Street, Boston, Mass. 




“ LOOKED RESPECTFULLY AT THE QUEER ENGLISH 

words ” (see page 41) 



Cosu Corner Series 

THE FLIGHT OF 
ROSY DAWN 


By 

Pauline Bradford Mackie 

(Mrs. Herbert Muller Hopkins) » i '• 

Author of 

“Ye Lyttle Salem Maide,” “Mademoiselle 
de Berny,” etc. 


Illustrated by 

Josephine Bruce 



Boston & S & & & 
L. C. Page & Company 

& 1903 

JN 



a 


TH€ LIBAAAY OF 
CONGKCSS. 
Two Co**« KEtEwn 

AM. 12 1902 




fLAM ^XXo. Mo. 
COPY A. 



H 



Copyright , 1902 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

All rights reserved 


Published, May, 1902 


(Eolontal Press 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 


TO 

filtss iSmtlg «$. Bouton 

AND 

Hilts. Julia B. Comstock 


IN MEMORY OF A CALIFORNIA DAY 












































CHAPTER PAGE 

I. In Which Kwong Hung Escapes from 

the White Devil .... 13 

II. In Which Kwong Hung Meets the 

Gray Ghost 33 

III. In Which Kwong Hung Finds His 

Honourable Uncle .... 50 

IV. In Which Kwong Hung Steals Away 

Little Kee Wee 69 

V. In Which Kwong Hung Is Restored 

to Happiness 81 





















































' 




. 














































































- 



PAGE 

“ Looked respectfully at the queer Eng- 
lish words” ( Seepage 41 ) . Frontispiece 

“He stood still to watch it” . . 16 

“ The patient, toiling figure, clad in blue 

denim ” 20 

“ Kee Kwong Hung put his curse on the 

HOUSE ” 31 

“ Screwed up their eyes, and opened their 

mouths” 35 

“Kee Wee sat on his father’s lap” . . 55 

“ Mrs. Kee was arranging an ornament in 

HER HAIR ” 66 

“The cook carried the baby pick-a-pack 

UP AND DOWN THE ROOM” ... 77 

“ Nestled his head in Kwong’s neck ” . 80 

“ He plunged it into the doctor ” *93 





















. 





















THE 

FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH KWONG HUNG ESCAPES FROM THE 
WHITE DEVIL 

Kwong Hung was in the back yard chop- 
ping kindling. 

A shed had lately been added to the house, 
and his inborn thrift impelled him to cut up 
and stow away the few odd boards left by the 
carpenter. He whistled cheerfully as he 
worked, a monotonous tune that never varied. 
He had learned it from the grocery boy, whom 
he greatly admired. It was still so early in 
the morning that the first flush of dawn was 
just beginning to brighten back of the low 
13 


14 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


foot-hills, that lay like a long arm behind the 
little town of Berkeley. 

Terence, his mistress’s puppy, made a coquet- 
tish leap at the descending hatchet, and barely 
missed having a soft little paw lopped off. 

This so startled Kwong that he was quite 
ready to be cross with his companion; and he 
picked him up, and set him down hard on the 
walk a safe distance away. 

But Terence was delighted to be noticed. 
He was panting so hard that his small red 
tongue lolled out. He was just losing his first 
teeth. He had been digging in the garden for 
a gopher, and the dirt clung to his long hair 
so that he looked as if he had a moustache. 
Altogether his air was rakish and disreputable 
for one really so young. 

Kwong surveyed him with rising displeas- 
ure. 

“ You much dirt-dog,” he said. “ Dis day 
I you soap and was’.” He had all that love 
of exquisite cleanliness which marks a New 
England woman. His white apron and jacket 
were immaculate, and his queue was wound 
neatly around his head. Beneath his dark 
trousers showed his slippers of jade-green 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 


15 


satin, heavily embroidered. He changed 
them for common felt ones when he 
scrubbed. The dewy freshness of childhood 
still lay in his liquid almond eyes, and he had 
very rosy cheeks, which is rare in Chinese 
children. But in his case it was because his 
little mother in far-off China was beautiful 
after the fashion of her people, with pome- 
granate cheeks and feet that were golden 
lilies. So he had been given the name of 
Kwong Hung, which means Rosy Dawn. 

Back of the foot-hills the dawn was deepen- 
ing like a wonderful, slow-opening rose. 

With the kindling-wood in his arms he stood 
still to watch it. 

Brighter than the brightest silver, there, all 
in a minute, was the laughing sun! 

“ Ha ! ” cried Kwong, in ecstasy. 

Every morning, when it was not the season 
of rains and fogs, he watched this panorama. 
It was the romance, the fairy tale, of his hard- 
working life. In the solitude of the early 
morning, he, Rosy Dawn, a worshipped son 
while his father lived, but now an anxious 
little servant, felt his heart swell with joy at 
this greeting from the sun. 


1 6 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 



This morning 
the mist still 
hovered over the 
foot-hills so that 
they were like 
the shadow hills 
of a dream, all a 
golden edge 
along the sky- 
line. 

After he had 
lighted the fire, 
and put the kettle 
on to boil, he 
stood at the open 
kitchen window. 
The air, fresh and 
sweet, was filled 
with the resinous 
odour of the 
eucalyptus -trees. 
The first rays of 
the sun sifted 
through their 
bluish- green 
leaves, which 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 


I 7 


hung cimeter-shaped, dripping dew. Their 
flaking bark kept Kwong busy in his odd 
moments sweeping up the litter they cast into 
his tiny kitchen-garden. But untidy as these 
trees were, he was obliged to accept them as 
part of the landscape of his life. 

Beyond the grove was the ever-fascinating 
vista of the hills. Nothing grew on them but 
the wild grain through which the cattle roamed 
at will. Two months of the year, after the 
rains, these brown hills were green ; but brown 
or green, they never lost their look of velvet, 
sometimes ruffled, sometimes smooth, stroked 
this way or that by the long fingers of the 
wind. He had been told that far beyond San 
Francisco, after many a day’s sailing over the 
rounding ocean, lay China. He was thinking 
of this as he stood now at the window, and he 
shook his head. Deep in his heart he believed 
that if he could but climb to the highest hill 
and go down the other side he would reach 
his country by a nearer route. 

Terence put his front paws against the side 
of the house, and his bright eyes stared plead- 
ingly at the flinty-hearted Kwong, whose im- 
maculate kitchen floor permitted no four-footed 
tracks of dusty little feet. 


1 8 THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 

But, though severe, Kwong was just. He 
took a bone left from last night’s dinner out of 
the paper in which he had wrapped it neatly. 
Then he leant, laughing, over the window- 
ledge to tease Terence with it. 

“ Much dirt-dog,” he addressed him, “ how 
you was? You like dis, hey? Maybe you it 
git. Maybe you not it git. Hey ? ” 

But the burnished copper kettle began just 
then to spout forth a cloud of steam, and 
Kwong hastily dropped the bone to the con- 
cerned Terence, and started to make the coffee. 
While the breakfast was cooking, he set the 
table, and when he had finished the latter 
task he took his broom and went out to sweep 
the veranda. A climbing yellow rose-bush 
grew about the posts, and reached to the top 
of the house. At present it bore but few roses, 
for the dry season was barely past, and the 
rains had not yet set in. 

Kwong stood looking across the blue bay at 
the hills of San Francisco. In very clear 
weather the houses could be seen. His face 
became troubled as he gazed. 

There in the heart of the business portion of 
the city hived Chinatown. And over it the 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 


l 9 


menace of the Black Plague spread like a low- 
lying, ever-widening cloud. 

For days the vegetable coolies had not been 
seen climbing the hills of the near-by towns 
with their great baskets of fresh greens, fruits, 
and fish from the San Francisco markets. 
Every day Kwong watched wistfully for the 
patient, toiling figure, clad in blue denim, 
which unslung its baskets at the back door. 
This was Ah Lee, who had so prospered 
since he came to America, and been so blessed 
with two little sons that he actually risked 
his good fortune by wishing for a daughter. 

“ Yaas,” he would say to Mrs. Payne, “ I 
liF gal velly muchee like. You like clab? You 
tak’ him. Two bits.” And he would go away 
with a smile on his homely, pock-marked face. 

Now, Kwong despised girls, and never de- 
sired any daughters when he should marry, 
so that he always tittered when the honest Ah 
Lee spoke thus. He thought of him this morn- 
ing, shut in by ropes over in Chinatown, 
forbidden to go out to earn his daily bread. 

“I fink him not like liF gal dis now,” he said, 
and despite his anxiety, he tittered again. He 
constantly talked aloud to himself in English 


20 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


that he might become proficient in that de- 
spised but necessary tongue. 



The newsboy flung the morning paper over 
the geranium hedge, which flamed bravely, like 
the soldier of the other flowers, throughout all 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 


2 


seasons. Kwong went down the steps, and 
picked up the paper and spread it open. Across 
two columns was the terrible word. Slowly he 
spelled out the big black letters, P-L-A-G-U-E. 
He could make that out, and the word “ Chi- 
nese,” and many other words, such as, “ the,” 
“ if,” “ and,” “ is,” “ yellow,” and “ street.” 
His heart fluttering in his breast, he folded 
the paper, and went in and laid it at his 
master’s plate. Then he rang the breakfast- 
bell. 

Doctor and Mrs. Payne entered the room as 
he was bringing in the coffee. 

“ Hullo, Kwong,” said the doctor. 

“ How you are dis morning? Plitty well, I 
tank you,” he rejoined, politely. He never 
failed to respond in full in the phrases taught 
him at the mission school which he attended 
every night, in company with the other ser- 
vants of the neighbourhood. “ De coffee he 
git done,” he added. 

“ I’m beginning to be afraid of Kwong,” 
said pretty Mrs. Payne ; “ he already notices 
if we are a minute late. What will he be when 
he grows up ? ” 

Her husband laughed, and picked up the 


22 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


paper. “ Hullo,” he cried, “ it’s just as I told 
you last night. We’re going to have a hard 
fight with the Plague. It’s getting a better 
foothold than I like. And speaking as I do 
from the inside, I can assure you the papers 
are not exaggerating the danger.” 

Kwong, who understood what he said, passed 
the rolls with a shaking hand. 

But the doctor did not stop to take one until 
he had read straight on down the two columns 
and turned to the inside page. Then he looked 
up. “ Well, Kwong,” he said, jestingly, “ I 
guess I’ll have to inoculate you so you won’t 
get the Plague. I fear it may find its way 
across the bay. However,” he continued, 
tempted by his servant’s solemn face, “ I 
haven’t time to-day. I’ll wait until to- 
morrow.” 

“ To-molly,” Kwong repeated, in the voice 
of one who knew his doom. He stooped, and 
carefully lifted a crumb so that it should not 
be trodden into the rug. Then he looked up 
again at his tormentor. “ Plis you not to- 
molly.” 

“ Nonsense,” retorted Payne, “ go out and 
poach me another egg.” He folded the paper 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 23 

and passed his cup to his wife for a second 
pouring of coffee. “ Seriously, my dear,” he 
said, “ if the Plague spreads, it will mean that 
the whole of Chinatown will have to go up in 
flames. I, for my part, would be only too 
glad of it. The law is violated there every 
hour, and the precinct is never wholly 
free from smallpox and leprosy. The sooner 
we burn it up, and turn out the Chinese, 
the better. They are a continual menace to 
the city.” 

“ Ah,” hissed Kwong, paling as he listened 
behind the pantry-door. Then he stepped away 
to drop the egg in the hot water. 

After he had washed the dishes, Mrs. Payne 
came out to make a cake. She was proud of 
her lately acquired skill in cooking, and she 
taught her little servant carefully all she her- 
self had learned of the art. This morning, 
however, he was in an ill humour, and showed 
no interest. When she handed him the cake to 
put in the oven, he slammed the door on it 
so fiercely as to startle her. 

“ Why, Kwong,” she cried, “ how you 
scared me! ” 

“ How spell 4 scare he asked, frowning 


24 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


at her, but, nevertheless, anxious to learn a 
new word. It was the ruling passion of his 
life. 

“ I think you had better go to your room, 
and stay there until you get over being angry,” 
answered Mrs. Payne. “ You are a naughty 
boy.” She did not look at him, but kept her 
eyes fixed on the whites of eggs she was beat- 
ing up for the frosting. 

Kwong hesitated. He knew what that par- 
ticular expression on her face meant. His 
kitchen was his kingdom, and to be told to 
leave it was more than he could endure. He 
dreamed of the day when he should be sole 
despot of an immaculate kitchen in which the 
swish of petticoats should never be heard. It 
was for this reason that he studied industri- 
ously the Bible given him for faithful attend- 
ance at the mission school. He felt convinced 
that if he could but once read that mysterious 
book, he would be enabled to master the con- 
tents of his mistress’s big recipe book, and 
thus become a professional cook. 

“ Are you going to your room ? ” asked 
Mrs. Payne. 

He saw he must make his peace or be ban- 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 2 5 

ished. “ I is not angry dis now,” he answered. 
“ I have shame to hit de do’. Plis, how spell 
‘ scare ’ ? What mean ? ” 

So she told him, and he got his pad and 
pencil off the pantry-shelf, and she spelled the 
letters out for him, and explained what the 
word meant. She did not understand the piti- 
ful little smile with which he regarded her 
after she had finished. 

“ Dis is scare,” he said, and tapped his 
breast. He was not without a sense of 
humour. 

“ No, no, Kwong,” she said, shaking her 
head and smiling, and, thinking he had misun- 
derstood, went through the careful explanation 
again. 

All that morning he dwelt with terror on his 
master’s threat. He was not as systematic as 
usual about his work, but went aimlessly from 
one half-finished task to another. He wan- 
dered out into the kitchen-garden to pick up 
the litter that fell from the eucalyptus-trees. 
His scorn of them was gone, and he gazed up 
at them with the softened eyes of despair. 

“ To-molly,” he said, aloud. 

Only his mistress was at home for lunch. 


26 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


Every day Doctor Payne went over to China- 
town on his fearful errand. And what Kwong 
had long dreaded secretly had at last come 
true. His master was going to put the poison 
in him on the morrow, and he must die. He 
shuddered to recall the determined look in 
those fierce blue eyes. Above all things, 
Kwong was afraid of his master’s blue eyes, 
and he never looked him in the face if he 
could help it. Whenever he dreamed of white 
devils they always had blue eyes and grinning 
teeth like Doctor Payne’s. He sat at the 
kitchen table, and drank his tea. He took 
three cups, but he ate nothing. 

“ My froat are dry,” he said, aloud. De- 
spite his distress he tried to pronounce his 
r’s. His hands were icy cold. The per- 
spiration stood in beads on his smooth yellow 
forehead, and the colour which gave him his 
beautiful name of Rosy Dawn glowed fever- 
ishly. His childish little mouth drooped, for 
he knew that his time to die had come. He 
remembered the fearful tales the servants in 
the neighbourhood had told him, regarding 
the treatment of the Chinese by the white 
doctors. 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 27 

Sitting alone there with his terror, which 
seemed to fill the pleasant kitchen, he looked 
about the familiar walls, and spoke as if ad- 
dressing some one. 

He put his hand on his stomach. “ He 
stick de knife dis he’,” he said, solemnly. He 
made a wide gesture with his arm. “ I all 
swoll up, and die.” 

He shuddered. He had made it very clear to 
himself. Suddenly into his breast there surged 
a great longing to die amidst his own people 
if die he must. His little mother was a widow 
in far-off China, for the father who had 
brought him to San Francisco was dead. But 
all the family of Kee were his relatives, and 
he had many cousins in Chinatown as well 
as his uncle, the wealthy Kee Sam. His sense 
of duty, however, was stronger than the fear 
which bade him flee at once. He remained 
to clear the luncheon table and wash the dishes. 
And he did not forget to spread a newspaper 
out on the back porch and give the puppy his 
dinner. 

“ Much dirt-dog,” he said, winking back the 
tears which tried to prove he had the heart 
of a despised girl, “ much dirt-dog, I go.” 


28 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


But Terence was not sympathetic. He was 
growling and shaking a drum-stick under the 
delightful pretence that it was a rat. 

Mrs. Payne had gone out for the afternoon, 
and Kwong was alone in the house. When 
Terence had finished, he cleaned up after him, 
and filled his pan with fresh water, then went 
up-stairs to his room in the garret. There he 
changed his white linen jacket for one of black 
silk brocade, having velvet buttons of lavender 
and pink. He let down his long queue, braided 
with scarlet silk, and put on his soft-brimmed 
black hat. From his cedar chest he took out 
his coffin money, wrapped in silver paper, and 
also a dagger. This dagger had a carved bone 
handle which represented a sea-dragon, wear- 
ing such a diabolical grin that it quite thrilled 
Kwong whenever he looked at it. He hid it 
and the money in his blouse. He rolled his 
few clothes and Bible and spelling-book into 
a bundle. Yet he lingered after he was ready 
to start. What ambitions for the future had 
lived with him in this little room ! There was 
the chair which he had drawn close to his bed 
every night, and put the alarm-clock on it 
that he might not oversleep. He sat down 


ESCAPES FROM THE WHITE DEVIL 29 

now in it for the last time, and gazed once 
more at the faithful clock, whose ticking had 
been like the breathing of a companion at 
night, so that he was never lonely when he 
listened to it. 

Kwong was not yet fourteen, and he looked 
forward to years of hard work with few pleas- 
ures. His hands were already enlarged with 
work and swollen by the water, in which they 
constantly were, for he was a conscientious 
scrubber. Nevertheless, life was sweet to him, 
and all too early he must bid it farewell. Thus 
it was he lingered long in the little room and 
could not make up his mind to go. He picked 
up a scrap of paper from the floor, and blew 
some imaginary dust off the table, and 
straightened a wrinkle that did not exist on 
the coverlid of his bed. Then he went out 
softly and closed the door. He came down 
the stairs again into the kitchen. Suddenly he 
paused and his face grew rigid again with 
hatred. Could he forget his master’s words 
at the breakfast table? It was not alone the 
threat to himself, but the cruel wish to see 
Chinatown burned. Kwong made again that 
curious hissing sound through his little white 


30 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


teeth. He rubbed the tip of his finger on a 
cake of whiting, and scrawled laboriously 
on the window-pane : 

“ DOC PAYNE.” 

He had learned to write it from the bills 
the grocery boy brought. Then below the 
name he wrote: 

“ yu Die 2 year.” 

Thus it was that Kee Kwong Hung put his 
curse on the house he was leaving. 



“ KEE KWONG HUNG PUT HIS CURSE ON THE HOUSE 











































































































I 















CHAPTER II. 


IN WHICH KWONG HUNG MEETS THE GRAY 
GHOST 

Several people smiled at the little fellow 
hurrying so breathlessly to the station where 
the local train came in. Two ladies even 
stopped him, and asked him two or three ques- 
tions, for the sake of getting him to talk, and 
he answered shyly, blushing his lovely blush, 
and preening his head like a little bird. No 
one was better aware than he how beautiful 
he was. Did not all the women of the white 
devils admire him? 

The younger of the two ladies gave him 
some candy out of a box she carried, and he 
thanked her politely. 

“ How sweet,” she said to her companion. 

“ How sweet,” Kwong repeated to himself. 
All the white women looked at him, and said, 


33 


34 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


“ How sweet.” He went on down the street, 
quite intoxicated with their admiration. “How 
sweet,” he said again, preening and smiling. 

Two small fat boys raced after him. “ Hey, 
Chink,” they shouted, “ give us some.” 

He was about to pass on scornfully, for 
they were too little to molest him, when a 
thought struck him, and he paused. 

“You some want?” he asked. “ De eye. 
You put him in dark room.” 

The two understood his gesture, if not his 
words, and screwed up their eyes, and opened 
their mouths for the sweetmeats. 

Kwong looked at them with contempt. 
They were like two foolish birds. Chinese 
children were better-mannered. They never 
stopped strangers, and begged for things to 
eat. 

He stepped softly by and went on. 

The two stood waiting some moments with 
wide expectant mouths, then realised they had 
been fooled, and so pursued Kwong several 
blocks, calling him names. 

But the good spirits which had tempted him 
to play the trick vanished quickly, and his for- 
mer depression came back. It was late in the 


MEETS THE GRAY GHOST 


35 


afternoon. The train to the ferry was so 
crowded that no one paid any attention to him 
except the conductor who punched his ticket. 
The ride over on the ferry-boat made him 



very sad, for never, not even at sunrise, had 
the world seemed so beautiful to him before. 
The white sea-gulls followed the boat, circling 
until they were but mere specks in the blue 
sky, dipping low until their wings touched the 


36 THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 

green waves. Back of them stretched the long 
line of foam. And there, over there, other 
ships went sailing through the Golden Gate 
to China, that country, alas! which he would 
never see again. 

What was the mist that kept blinding his 
gaze? He was no despised girl to weep. He 
closed his lids tight to make the mist go away, 
but this forced two hot drops upon his cheeks. 
Where was his courage, his manful heart, his 
indifference? Kee Kwong Hung, standing 
hidden back of the lower deck cabin, was 
sobbing like any girl. 

The whistle blew, and he hurried to make 
his way to the front of the boat, to be one of 
the first off the gangway. Once outside the 
ferry-house he found himself in what seemed 
a veritable whirlwind of electric cars, and to 
his distress, found that he did not know which 
one to take to Chinatown. He was too timid 
to inquire of any one, and so rushed for the 
sidewalk, narrowly escaping being run over. 
It was nearly five o’clock, and the streets were 
crowded with shoppers and business men re- 
turning to their homes. 

He looked down the narrow vista of the 


MEETS THE GRAY GHOST 


37 


street to a space of sunset sky enclosed by jut- 
ting roofs. The electric lights swung out over 
the thoroughfare like great silver stars ; orange 
squares streamed out here and there from 
shop windows, as the city was illumined, grad- 
ually, and yet swiftly, as if by magic. All 
above his head seemed lofty, and full of peace, 
but down about him were a myriad moving 
figures that pushed by him, this way or that, 
a terrible, restless throng. Where were they 
all going? What did they all want? He 
found himself in a mass gathered to applaud 
a street vendor who stood on a box, exhibiting 
his wares. 

Kwong struck out with his arms, and strug- 
gled to get away, and the crowd parted good- 
naturedly enough, although once a hand gave 
his queue a twist. Before him, he saw a dark 
alleyway, and he fled down this, convinced 
that he was pursued. At last, his breath failed 
him, and he looked back over his shoulder. 
He was all alone save for an old and experi- 
enced cat, which gazed down on him from the 
top of a shed. Here he lingered until it was 
entirely dark, and all that he could see of the 
cat were her two green eyes still watching him 


38 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


from the shed. The cat was very like a demon, 
Kwong thought, staring up at those two bright 
eyes with their narrowing slits. 

He hastened away. The stars came out, the 
purple sky arched dark, and, here and there, 
along side streets, down alleys, skirting the 
lighted corners, wandered Kwong Hung. 
What places were these for him to be in, he, 
Rosy Dawn, the honourable son of his father? 
At last he could go no further, and he sat 
down on a stairway in a quiet side street. 

He was hungry, and glad now of the candy 
the lady had given him. His eyes still smarted 
with the tears he had shed, and a more terrible 
demon than the cat could possibly have proven 
seized upon his heart. It was the demon of 
homesickness, and it kept whispering in his 
ear of his clean little room, the clock, the beauti- 
ful kitchen, the tall, friendly eucalyptus-trees, 
whose leaves whispered the tales which the 
wind blew from over the hills. But most of 
all did the demon whisper to him of Terence, 
Terence, who at that moment had his soft little 
body pressed against the kitchen door, and 
who cocked his ears at every sound, hoping for 
the slippered footfall of Kwong Hung. 


MEETS THE GRAY GHOST 


39 


For there was a secret between the two. 
Kwong Hung, who scolded and scrubbed 
Terence in the daytime, and professed con- 
tempt for his untidy ways and utter lack of 
propriety, this same deceitful Kwong Hung 
would creep down-stairs in the darkness, after 
the family had retired, open the door, and carry 
Terence up to sleep on the foot of his bed for 
the night. 

He rose, and wandered on again, darting 
away at the approach of any one. At last, 
when his feet could drag on no further, he 
found another stairway leading up from the 
street, and there he rested again. On the op- 
posite corner was one of the temples of the 
white devils. Its tall steeple went up and up 
into the starlit sky, and at the very top was 
a cross. While he was watching it he fell 
asleep. 

Fie woke in the blue-gray dawn, and was 
more appalled by the strange loneliness, and 
the deserted look of the street, than he had 
been when all was dark. In the market-place 
an imprisoned rooster crowed faintly because 
the morning had come. Kwong shook at the 
sound, for he thought it came from a ghost, 


40 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


or was in his own homesick mind. He looked 
about him, and saw pictures of the white devils 
under glass cases at both sides of the stairway. 
It was a photographer’s display, but it height- 
ened his discomfort, and he felt haunted 
indeed. 

Suddenly, the cross on the tall steeple turned 
to gold. The beautiful sun was up. But he 
could not see it for the tall buildings. He 
thrust out his lower lip, injured and grieving. 

But what was that he saw fluttering, waving 
in the breeze, back of the tall steeple? What 
was that rising and falling, so that the dragon 
on its yellow folds seemed a living creature? 
How the sun shone on it, and the wind blew 
it for him to see! 

He dropped his bundle, and extended his 
arms in ecstasy, smiling, but choked for speech. 

Emotion, such as he had never before 
felt, filled his breast. A stranger in a 
strange land, he saw the flag of his country. 
He did not know the word “ patriotism,” but 
he experienced the sense of it now to the full. 

He picked up his bundle, and started down 
the street on a run. 

Soon he reached Portsmouth Square, the 


MEETS THE GRAY GHOST 


41 


pleasant green park which lay just outside 
Chinatown. He knew now where he was. He 
had been in this park before with his uncle, 
Kee Sam. There were the careful paths, the 
regularly placed benches, the closely mowed 
grass. It was all so orderly that he felt a spirit- 
ual kinship with the park. In the centre of the 
square was the monument, bearing the gold 
ship which the white devils had once erected 
to one of their kind, who had been cold and 
hungry, and slept out all night in the park. 
He had been a great scholar. As he was about 
to pass by now, Kwong paused, and looked 
respectfully at the queer English words, spell- 
ing out the name Robert Louis Stevenson. He 
had the instinctive reverence of the Chinese 
for learning, and it was his impression that 
a scholar lay buried there. 

On the further side of the park were several 
tents. These were new to him. He searched 
his mind for the stories the servants in the little 
town across the bay had told him regarding 
these tents. Ah, he remembered. They were 
the detention tents, which had been hastily 
erected for the purpose of holding those Chi- 
nese who were suspected of having been ex- 


42 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


posed to the plague-infected district. Soldiers 
paced up and down. 

Kwong hesitated before this fresh danger. 
It was one thing to die among his own people ; 
but it was quite a different thing to be captured, 
and shut up by the soldiers. 

Yet only a little way beyond, the yellow flag 
beckoned him. How confident and free it 
looked, fluttering against the blue sky! He 
saw a rope stretched across the street. Against 
it pressed a row of frightened sallow faces, that 
suddenly turned, and gave way to flying queues 
as a physician came out from one of the tents 
and, lifting the rope, stooped, and went under. 

Alas ! Kwong dared not go forward. 

His knees trembled under him. He looked 
helplessly around. His glance rested on the 
gold ship. The childlike nature in him was 
soothed because the ship was neither grim nor 
unlovely. Its full canvas spread to the breeze, 
motionless, and yet it seemed started on a 
voyage of eternity. What promise lay in those 
unfurled sails! He felt this vaguely. Of all 
his surroundings this alone wore a friendly 
aspect, for now the flag seemed far away. He 
went over, and sat down on the stone base of 


MEETS THE GRAY GHOST 


43 


the monument. Two hours passed, and he 
sat like a little statue, staring up at the flag 
back of the tall steeple. How gaily the dragon 
curled and writhed its sinuous length against 
the sky, as if no wistful eyes watched it ! The 
fleecy clouds that had been so rosy at sunrise 
grew more and more solid, so that as he 
watched, the sky grew gray. 

Kwong Hung loved the sun, and hated the 
gloomy fog that swept in from the ocean. 
Shivering and hopeless he sat, so forlorn a 
little figure that even a policeman, strolling 
by, forbore to do more than shake his club 
at him, and order him to move on, if he didn’t 
want to be taken over to the detention camps. 

Kwong did not understand him, although 
he shrank pitifully at the motion of the club, 
and was relieved when the officer walked on. 

“What do you here, little son?” asked a 
voice in Chinese. 

“ I wish to die among mine own people, and 
I fear to go by the cruel soldiers,” answered 
Kwong, winking back his tears, and looking 
up to see who addressed him. 

Before him stood a tall old man, gray as if 
he had been swept in by the gray fog. His 


44 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSV DAWN 


long beard reached to his waist. His face 
and attire was that of the white devils. 

Kwong peered cautiously about, wondering 
from what direction he had come. But the Chi- 
nese words, the stranger’s gentle address, filled 
him with confidence. He poured out his woful 
story, talking rapidly in his native tongue. 

“Honourable little son of the illustrious fam- 
ily of Kee,” replied the old man, courteously, 
“it is not well that you should enter China- 
town, for a fearful condition prevails there. 
The merchants do not understand that the 
medicine is necessary if they would escape the 
terrible Black Plague, and so they have barred 
their windows and doors against the white doc- 
tors, who seek to do them good, and not evil. 
It is well that you should now return across 
the bay to your mistress, for the Plague has 
not yet reached over to the other side. I think 
your master but jested.” 

“ No,” answered Kwong, frowning, “ I go 
to die. The gods require it. But I would die 
among mine own people.” 

The fatalism of his race spoke in him. 

“ Who will keep up the ancestor worship of 
the noble family of Kee? ” asked the old man. 


MEETS THE GRAY GHOST 


45 


“There is Kee Wee,” said Kwong; “him 
the doctors will not touch, for he is too little. 
He is the wretched, shrivelled monkey son of 
my most miserable and unfortunate uncle, Kee 
Sam.” Now, Kwong loved his little cousin, 
and thought him beautiful, and worthy to be 
a child of the sun, but he spoke in dispraise of 
him that he might not excite the envy of the 
gods. “ Bah, he is a little pig, a cat, a dog,” 
he added, “ I spit him out of my mouth,” and 
he spat vigorously on the ground to show his 
contempt for the despicable Kee Wee. For 
Kwong Hung was wise in the ways of the 
world in this particular. 

4 ‘ I know the illustrious Kee Sam and his 
beautiful little son,” replied the old man, kindly 
and smiling. “ Kee Sam is a worthy and 
honest merchant. I will take you to him, al- 
though I would advise you to return to your 
mistress across the bay.” 

“ Nay,” said Kwong Hung, wrinkling his 
smooth yellow forehead into an awful scowl, 
“ I will go to my despised uncle, Kee Sam.” 

“ Then come,” said the old man. 

They went by the tents, and Kwong noticed 
that his companion spoke but briefly to the 


46 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


soldier, yet this was sufficient to allow them 
both to pass. The officer who had shaken his 
club at Kwong, and told him to move on, 
raised the rope for them to pass under, and 
thus it was that Kwong Hung entered his 
desired haven. 

But could it be the same place he had 
last seen in festive array on the Chinese 
New Year? Then the shops had been bright 
with their rich displays of embroideries, rare 
china, bronzes that warmly reflected the col- 
ours. Now he looked down the deserted 
streets with windows closed and barred. Then 
the incense of the burning sandalwood from 
the joss-houses had mingled with the musky 
scent of the white, yellow-centred lilies that 
blossomed spirit-like from out shallow dishes 
of pebbles and water. The odour of uncleaned 
streets and neglected alleys greeted him. All 
was desolation and squalor. Gone the astute 
merchants, and their quaint wares; gone the 
perfume of the lilies and sandalwood; van- 
ished the happy people in gala attire who had 
thronged the streets; silent the theatres and 
temples, echoing no longer the barbarous, 
strangely stirring Chinese music. 


MEETS THE GRAY GHOST 


47 


The old man paused again. He bent his 
shadowy, beneficent gaze on his little com- 
panion. 

“ Would you go farther, O Rosy Son of the 
Morning? ” 

Kwong did not hear his words. Again he 
made that vague wide gesture which expressed 
so much to his own mind. 

“ De Pleg,” he whispered with parched lips, 
forgetting that his companion spoke Canton- 
ese. “ De Pleg.” 

“ We will go back,” said the old man. 

But Kwong shook his head. 

From out a stairway half a block down the 
dull street there stepped forth a gorgeous figure 
in light blue and purple silk. None who had 
seen his pictures could mistake that fine and 
intelligent face, smooth and yellow as old 
ivory, the aristocratic bearing, the straight 
figure. It was the renowned and all-powerful 
Fong Foo, the Chinese consul at San Fran- 
cisco. 

But when he neared Kwong’s companion he 
stopped, and made obeisance. 

The little servant gasped with amazement. 
Who then could this old man be that the great 
Fong Foo should do him honour? 


48 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


The two stood some moments in earnest 
conversation. It could be seen that the con- 
sul was excited. He made so angry a gesture 
that the ivory and silk fan he held in his small 
hand snapped, and he thrust it in his blouse. 
Kwong saw the long, highly polished nails 
grow white, so tightly did Fong Foo clinch 
his hands together. 

But the old man talked soothingly to him 
so that the haughty brow of the aristocrat be- 
came smooth, and after making a final deep 
obeisance, he went his way. 

All the colour had gone out of Kwong’ s 
face. Who could this old man be? His mind 
reverted to the fountain with the gold ship, 
which the white devils had erected to the 
memory of the scholar. 

And suddenly all was clear to him, and he 
knew, even as the gods know. 

The old man was the ghost of the famous 
scholar. 

That was why he was so gray, why he had 
appeared so suddenly, and why the great Fong 
Foo had bowed before him. It was because of 
his wisdom and his age, for he must be many 
honourable thousands of years old. 


MEETS THE GRAY 'GHOST 


49 


Kwong hastened to thrust himself in front 
of his companion, and prostrated himself until 
his forehead touched the sidewalk. 

But the old man stepped to one side that 
he might pass the bowing little figure, and 
went on. 

It was some moments before Kwong dis- 
covered he was bowing to the empty air, then 
he rose, and fled after his companion. 

“ Oh, most wise,” he cried, hastening to 
prostrate himself once more, “ I am much 
beholden to you.” 

Again and again he touched his forehead to 
the ground. When he looked up the old man 
had vanished like a shadow, and although he 
looked up and down the street for him, this 
time he was gone for good. Out of the gray 
fog he had come. Into the gray fog he had 
passed. Kwong felt his hair rising until his 
queue was lifted erect, for all the world like a 
cat’s tail. 

Once more he looked about him, and this 
time saw that he was in front of his uncle’s 
shop. 


CHAPTER III. 


IN WHICH KWONG HUNG FINDS HIS 
HONOURABLE UNCLE 

“ Hi, hi, Kwong,” cried Kee Sam, coming 
to the door of his shop, “ how come you here 
thus early in the morning? ” 

He spoke in Cantonese, and Kwong an- 
swered him in the same tongue, staring about 
him, and looking everywhere save at his uncle. 

“ Hush, a ghost listens to us. Speak not 
in so loud and rash a tone. The fog envelops 
him in a gray mantle, but I am sure he is near.” 
He went up close to his uncle and whispered : 
“ I have run away from the white devil whose 
servant I am. His blue eyes looked on me 
like poisonous lightning. I came away, even 
here, where we all must die, but I would fain 
die among mine own people. Mine is the act 
of wisdom.” 

“ Ho,” said Sam, wagging his head, sol- 
50 


FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 


51 


emnly, but his eyes twinkling behind his spec- 
tacles, “ seat thyself, and tell me more, wise 
one.” 

“ I have not yet breakfasted,” answered 
Kwong. “ I am ill with hunger. Nor did I 
have any supper last night save a handful of 
sweetmeats.” 

“ Come in, and you shall have a dish of 
suey, and tea, and a soft bean cake with red 
frosting,” cried Sam. “ Come in, little fam- 
ished one.” 

Kwong followed him through the shop, 
which was filled with many things that were 
rich and rare. There were carved ivories so 
old as to have a gleam pale and polished as the 
smooth forehead of a little, high-born Chinese 
maiden ; wonderful fans with sandalwood 
sticks to waft fragrance; wadded silk gowns 
lined with delicate tints, but having the outside 
splendid in embroidery; black chairs of teak- 
wood having turkey-red cushions. A copper 
vase was filled with peacock feathers. From 
the ceiling a grinning bronze ape suspended 
himself by one arm. In a glass case was ex- 
hibited a cup and saucer on which were painted 
the heads of a hundred wise men. 


52 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


Kee Sam was wealthy, and the heir to all 
his riches was a tiny child, who came forward 
dragging a kite. Such a baby, it might seem, 
could come from no other surroundings. Kee 
Wee had taken his colour from the old ivory; 
his coquettishness from the very fans them- 
selves, for ever since he had come into the 
world he had flirted with life as if nature had 
make a mistake, and meant him for a girl. His 
eyes were bright and mischievous as those of 
the swinging ape above him; his little with- 
ered face wore the same uncanny look of wis- 
dom that stamped the faces of the hundred 
wise men whose heads, row above row, looked 
out so uncannily upon a fleeting world from 
their vantage ground of china. His jacket was 
as gorgeous a piece of embroidery as any that 
were folded away in cedar chests. His close- 
fitting cap had two points that stood up like 
horns. 

“ Beautiful little son,” cried Sam, his eyes 
gloating, “ here is your honourable cousin.” 

Kee Wee cocked his head on one side, and 
flapped his kite coquettishly at Kwong, then 
in an assumed panic — for he was not a bit 
shy in reality, this artful Kee Wee — ran and 
hid behind the big vase of peacock feathers. 


FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 


53 


“ Good morning, thou despised Kee Wee,” 
said Kwong, beaming with delight; but, more 
cautious than his uncle, he did not risk incur- 
ring the jealousy of the gods by praising the 
baby. 

“ Tis the honourable little nephew,” cried 
a shrill voice ; and a stout woman with an iron 
spoon in her hand waddled forward, and met 
him on the threshold. She had a large face, 
deeply pitted by smallpox, but her good- 
humoured eyes, small and welcome as berries 
in a pudding, redeemed her countenance from 
hideousness. Her jacket and trousers were of 
shining black silk. Her carefully oiled black 
hair shone purple in the light. Large brass 
earrings hung to her shoulders, and her fat 
wrists were ornamented with jadestone brace- 
lets. 

She hurried back to the brick stove when her 
husband told her that their guest was hungry. 

“ Tang ha, tang ha,” said she, which is 
Chinese for “ Wait a little, wait a little.” 

It was wonderful how quickly she could 
move about for one so stout, and she soon had 
a meal prepared. There was a curious bowl 
of Canton ware filled with the savoury suey, 


54 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


which was made of rice and chicken. For 
dessert there were three little bowls all alike, 
the first filled with preserved ginger, the sec- 
ond with green plum compote, the third with 
citron in a rich syrup. And she also brought 
out a plate of spongy cake flavoured with 
something that tasted like licorice, only much 
queerer. 

Never had Kwong been so hungry, and he 
ate as deftly with the chop-sticks as if Mrs. 
Payne had never taught him the uses of knife 
and fork. 

Sam took his big chair, and puffed at his big 
black pipe, and drank a cup of tea to keep his 
guest company. He was as fat and jolly as 
his wife, and his eyes twinkled behind his 
spectacles. 

Kee Wee sat on his father’s lap, and flapped 
his dilapidated kite. So tiny was he that he 
looked like a midget perched on the knee of 
a giant. He reached out a hand like a little 
claw, and took a handful of the ginger and 
stuffed it into his mouth, gurgling and choking 
over the dripping syrup, his bright eyes danc- 
ing on Kwong. Never did any one have such 
laughing eyes as Kee Wee. 



“ KEE wee sat on his father’s lap 




FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 


57 


“ O beautiful little son,” cried Sam, in 
ecstasy, “ my little bird without a tongue.” 
For Kee Wee was backward in talking, and 
had never yet uttered a word, so that his father 
made many costly sacrifices to the gods. Kee 
Wee struggled now to the floor, sliding down 
against his father’s leg. 

Sam poked him gently with the stem of his 
black pipe, and Kee Wee put his hands over 
his little stomach to protect himself, and 
doubled up with convulsive glee. 

“ Kat sat, kat sat,” cried Sam, which is Chi- 
nese for cockroach, “run away, little cockroach, 
or father will eat you up.” 

Kwong pushed aside the empty dishes, and 
took his second cup of tea. He had a sense 
of warmth and importance. His uncle was 
most curious to hear his adventures, but he 
said not a word until he had finished, for he 
did not wish to hurry him. 

Nor did he say a word as Kwong told of the 
awful threat made by his master, Doctor Payne, 
although Mrs. Kee made so many angry, ex- 
cited comments that she interrupted the story, 
and her husband was obliged to tell her to keep 
still. At this she began to scold him violently, 


58 THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 

for she had not his unsuspicious attitude 
toward the white devils, but sympathised with 
Kwong. 

When she had finished her chatter, for she 
was so stout as to be short of breath, Sam 
spoke : 

“ Thou art wrong, O honourable little 
nephew. The white doctors seek to prevent 
the terrible plague. See, I have let them put 
their all-powerful medicine into my arm, and 
also into my side.” He pushed up his sleeve, 
and showed a large red spot on his great arm. 

“ You will die, O most honourable uncle,” 
cried Kwong. “ You will die shortly,” and 
his lip quivered with grief. 

“ Thou art foolish, and more of a baby than 
Kee Wee,” said his uncle, kindly but sternly. 
“ When the rats die in the cellar, and vapours 
creep along the ground in the morning even 
after the sun is up, then let us beware, for the 
fearful Black Plague is upon us.” 

“ But he threatened far worse than to hurt 
me alone,” cried Kwong. “ He sent me out 
to cook him an egg for his breakfast, and 
while he supposed me thus gone I listened at 
the door, and heard him tell his wife that he 


FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 59 

would be pleased to see us all burnt up in 
Chinatown.” 

Now, at this even Sam was disturbed, but 
he thought it best to say nothing, and so he 
merely puffed out his cheeks with a big breath 
and looked wise. “ But you have not yet told 
me of the ghost, nephew,” he said. 

Thus reminded of the gray old man, Kwong 
glanced fearfully around, almost expecting to 
see him near by. 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” he laughed, thinking to tease 
his uncle, and to punish him for his belief in 
the white devils. “ Maybe I tell. Maybe I 
not tell.” 

All his rosy colour had come back ; his liquid 
almond eyes were soft and dark with merri- 
ment; his laughter revealed his pretty white 
teeth. Of the four persons in the close, dark 
room, he, alone, was beautiful. 

“ Maybe I tell. Maybe I not tell,” he re- 
peated, and winked at his uncle. This know- 
ing accomplishment had been taught him by 
his friend the grocery boy. 

“ Ki ki,” gurgled Kee Wee, cocking his head 
on one side, and giving his father an arch 
glance. 


6o 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


Kwong became as suddenly solemn as he 
had been merry. After all, his tale was too 
wonderful to be very gay. He told them how 
the dragon on the yellow flag had seemed at 
first to welcome him, but afterward had ap- 
peared to move farther away, so that in de- 
spair he had seated himself on the step of the 
stone fountain bearing the golden ship out in 
the green square ; how he had sat there 
and seen the bright sun go out in the 
fog, and his heart had become so heavy that 
he thought his parents should have given him 
the name of Sorrowful One. As he thus sat 
there all grieving a voice spoke to him in 
Chinese, and he looked up, and there was an 
old man gray as the fog. It was the ghost of 
the great scholar, who had risen to help him. 

At this part of the tale, Sam puffed out his 
cheeks, and blew a great breath, as he was apt 
to do when puzzled. 

But as his nephew went on to relate that the 
Chinese consul, even the great Fong Foo, him- 
self, had made obeisance to the old man, a 
light broke over Sam’s face, and he laughed. 

“ Ho, little nephew,” he cried, “ you saw no 
ghost, but you were right in thinking the old 


FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 


6 1 


man a scholar. Listen with respect, little 
nephew, for we speak of a renowned scholar. 
Who should be more revered than such as he? 
Therefore, let us speak of him with modesty on 
our part, for we are not worthy to speak his 
name above a whisper, so wise is he.” 

Kwong scowled at his uncle. “ He was a 
ghost, I say. I did not presume to touch with 
these miserable hands so learned a scholar, but 
positive am I, that had I done so my fingers 
would have closed upon the wet gray fog 
alone. ,, 

But Sam laughed, and his big body shook 
with merriment, so fiercely did Kwong scowl. 
“ Listen, and I will tell you. He was no ghost. 
In the town across the bay where your master’s 
home is, there is the University, where the 
young men learn much, and there this old man 
teaches our language. Often have I heard of 
him, of his kindness to our people here in 
Chinatown, of his friendship to the noble Fong 
Foo, who often seeks him for advice. For 
many years this old man was in China, going 
as a despised missionary; but he became wise 
from living in the flowery kingdom, and so 
he gave up trying to teach the Chinese scholars, 


62 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


and humbled himself and learned of them. 
Regard the blessing that comes from humility, 
little nephew. He thus became so proficient an 
adviser to the empress that she promoted him 
to so high a rank that even the noble Fong Foo 
himself is compelled to make obeisance when 
he meets him. Thus, it is — ” 

“What was that?” cried Kwong, jumping 
up, “I heard a sound in the shop.” He stepped 
swiftly forward, and peeked through the crack 
of the door. He drew back in terror. 

“ Hullo, Sam,” cried the hated voice of Doc- 
tor Payne, “how is your arm?” For he 
caught a glimpse of Sam in the back of the 
shop. 

Kwong grasped Kee Wee, and crawled 
under the table with him. 

Sam went out, grinning, and greeted the 
doctor. “ Hallo,” said he. 

“ I was going by, and thought I would drop 
in to see your arm. I didn’t like the inflamma- 
tion,” said the young man, and he took the 
fat fellow’s wrist, and pushed back the loose 
sleeve of his jacket. Then he dropped it, and 
laughed. “ Good healthy blood in you, Sam. 
It’s already started to heal.” 


FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 


63 


Sam laughed his artless, pleased laughter. 
He went behind the counter, and brought forth 
a long black cigar. “You tek?” 

The doctor shook his head. “ Some other 
time. By the way, has Kwong been near you ? 
Have you seen him ? ” 

“ Him lun away ? ” asked Sam, puffing out 
his cheeks, and looking wise. “ Him velly bad 
boy. Oh, velly bad boy, lib Kwong. Ya-as, 
him velly bad.” 

“ Oh, well, we needn’t worry,” answered 
Doctor Payne, easily, “ if he isn’t here, he’s 
probably hiding in the room of one of the ser- 
vants of the neighbourhood. Kwong can speak 
English better than you can now, Sam. He 
can get his r’s.” 

Sam laughed. “ All samee, I muchee old. 
No lea’n Englis mo’.” He waved his hand, 
grandly. “ Heap schola’, lil’ Kwong. Some 
day he be muchee gleat cook.” His expression 
suddenly became grave. He glanced about to 
see that no listener was near, even tiptoeing 
to the door in his caution, and looking up and 
down the deserted street. On the nearest cor- 
ner a policeman was pacing up and down, and 
a block away stood a group of Chinese, talking 
excitedly. 


64 the flight of rosy dawn 

“ By’m by I tell you sometling,” he said to 
the doctor, lowering his voice mysteriously. 
“ Plis you stay he’.” He went back into the 
inner room, and reached under the table for 
Kee Wee. 

Kwong, with his legs fastened firmly around 
one leg of the table, held the baby defiantly. 

Sam, puffing with the effort, got down on 
his knees, and thrust his face under the table 
to meet Kwong’s scowling glance. “ Pouf, 
pouf,” blew Sam, “ velly bad boy, HP Kwong.” 
With gentleness but with giant strength he 
took Kee Wee away from his nephew. 

Then, breathing heavily from the effort, he 
carried his son out to the doctor in the other 
room. Kee Wee hid his face bashfully in 
his father’s neck. 

“ Ah-h-h-h, look up, little one,” crooned 
Sam, and began to take off the child’s 
clothes with such deft and tender touches that 
he had him undressed before the doctor com- 
prehended what he was doing. Then, losing 
his bearing as of a loving nurse, and with a 
return to his native dignity of manner, he ex- 
tended the naked little Kee Wee very solemnly. 

“ Plis you mek him allee samee likee me, so 
he no gettee Pleg.” 


FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 65 

Doctor Payne shook his head. “It isn’t good 
to make the baby like you, Sam. He is too 
little. Too much medicine make him die.” 

The eyes of the big Chinaman welled up 
with tears. “ He not die. De Pleg come, 
mek him die. My lil’ son ! ” 

“ There, there, Sam,” said the young man, 
“ I must go now, for there’s a man sick over 
on the next street, but on my way back I’ll stop 
in, and see what we can do for the baby. I’ll 
be back in about two hours.” And he hurried 
away. 

Sam sat down in one of the teakwood chairs, 
and began to dress the little fellow, crooning 
over him through the tears that ran down his 
large face and blurred his spectacles. He was 
gray and middle-aged despite his stoutness and 
jolly laughter, and this child was as the apple 
of his eye. He felt that if he would keep little 
Kee Wee alive, he must make many more 
costly sacrifices to the gods than he had yet 
done. For that matter he would have parted 
gladly with his entire fortune, and commenced 
life anew if so doing would have made Kee 
Wee strong. 

When he had finished dressing him he 


66 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


trotted him up and down on his foot, and sang 
a nursery rhyme in Chinese which was not 
unlike “ This is the road to Banbury Cross.” 

In the back 
room Mrs. K e e 
was arranging an 
ornament in her 
hair by the aid of 
a steel hand-glass. 
She was going out 
to make an after- 
noon call. 

Kwong waited 
until Doctor Payne 
should be a good 
distance away be- 
fore he came out 
from his hiding- 
place. Quivering 
with fear and 
rage, he began 
to scold h i s 
uncle. 

“ Pouf,” said Sam, “thou art foolish. When 
the rats begin to die of the Black Plague, would 
you have me let my little son go without the 



FINDS HIS HONOURABLE UNCLE 67 

medicine which would keep him well? It is 
you who will die, O honourable nephew, if 
you do not let the doctor put medicine in you. 
But I hear the voices of some of my friends 
coming, so, if you do not wish to be seen, run 
back.” 

Three Chinese merchants turned in at the 
door, and greeted Sam gravely. He gave them 
a courteous welcome, and bade them be seated 
while he made tea. He was more advanced in 
his ideas than his friends, and his willingness 
to submit to the treatment of the white doc- 
tors made him an object of suspicion to his 
neighbours. So now he tried to propitiate 
them by giving them tea and sweetmeats and 
cigars. 

Kee Wee, playing about their feet, heard 
a kitten mewing in the other room, and toddled 
out, to find that it was Kwong. 

Mrs. Kee took her painted silk fan, and after 
looking cautiously up and down the street, to 
see that no white devil was in sight, waddled 
across the street to sit in her neighbour’s bal- 
cony, and drink tea and gossip. 

An hour passed. Sam, who had listened at 
first for Kee Wee’s laughter, became so excited 


68 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


in the discussion with his friends that he did 
not notice the sudden silence in the further 
room. Once, as a shadow touched his thresh- 
old, he looked up anxiously. He hoped Doc- 
tor Payne would not return while his other 
friends were there. But the shadow proved 
to be only another guest, who came in with the 
afternoon paper, a bright pink sheet printed 
with the queer black Chinese letters. 

At last his friends departed, and he went 
out to see Kwong, but no one was there. He 
called and searched in vain. Then he went 
out to look for his wife, and saw her just 
coming home across the street, holding the 
fan up to her head, for she never wore a hat. 
She was alone. No little figure toddled at her 
side. 

All his great body became so weak that he 
could barely stand, and leaned against the door- 
way. The perspiration rolled down his face. 

“ I cannot find Kee Wee,” he said, “ but a 
moment since I heard his little laughter sweet 
in my ears.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


IN .WHICH KWONG HUNG STEALS AWAY 
LITTLE KEE WEE 

The gray afternoon was drawing to a close. 
The fog had lifted, so that the day seemed 
brighter at its closing than it had been at 
noon. But the late, pale sunshine could not 
penetrate to the dark hallway of an old build- 
ing. There in the gloomiest corner Kwong 
Hung sat, holding the little Kee Wee asleep 
in his arms. So long had Kwong been there 
that he thought it must already be night out- 
side, and time for him to start on his new 
journey. 

When he ran away early that afternoon with 
the baby it was with the intention of seeking 
the shelter of the mission school he attended 
in the little town across the bay. But he had 
found ropes stretched everywhere, guarded by 
officers who would not let him out. So he 
69 • 


7 ° 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


decided to wait hidden until nightfall, and 
then try to escape again, under cover of the 
darkness. He wondered at first why he had 
not thought of the refuge the mission school 
offered before. Then he would not have had 
the long and wearisome adventure that had 
befallen him. But knowledge had come to him 
as he sat there in the twilight of the long after- 
noon, and he perceived that it was because it 
had been decreed by the gods that he should 
save little Wee. 

In the mysterious gloom dark forms scuffled 
by him, with the catlike steps of the soft-shod 
Chinese. Down the rickety hallway doors 
opened softly, and as softly shut, and gave out 
for a moment yellow gaslight, murky with 
smoke. Within these rooms the street win- 
dows were barred and closed. Outwardly 
Chinatown was deserted, but behind the dull, 
dead exterior, life went on with greater in- 
tensity for its very silence. Nearly opposite 
the corner in which Kwong sat, a door opened, 
and a man slipped out, and was gone in the 
shadows of the hall. But Kwong’s fascinated 
eyes had caught a glimpse of several Chinamen 
playing dominoes. 


STEALS AWAY LITTLE KEE WEE 


7 


It was not long before he heard the cat- 
like steps of his race about him, and, though 
he could not see the dark forms, he knew that 
a group of Chinese stood near him. Fright- 
ened, he crouched as close into the corner as 
he could, and listened. He feared that he 
might be discovered, and Kee Wee taken from 
him, and sent back to his father. Kee Wee 
continued to sleep peacefully. 

Kwong could hear every word, so keen was 
his attention, as the men planned their escape 
through an underground tunnel. From the 
conversation he guessed that the leader was 
a pastry-cook who, going to stay over night 
with friends in the infected district, had found 
himself caught the next morning by the quar- 
antine. 

At last they went on. Kwong’s resolution 
was taken. He would follow them. Holding 
Kee Wee, he stole along at their heels, stop- 
ping when they stopped, hurrying when they 
hurried, until at last a door opened, and he 
found himself descending a tortuous stairway 
which led down, down into what he knew must 
be an underground cellar because of the cold, 
damp air that greeted them. The darkness 


72 THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 

had been deep there in the hall they left, but 
here it was so black that it seemed like an im- 
penetrable wall, which retreated as they ad- 
vanced. 

Kwong put out one hand, ever so cautiously, 
and touched a side of the cellar. It was of 
brick, and dripping with cold moisture. He 
shivered. The whispering began again, but 
this time he could not distinguish what was 
said. There was the spurt of a match, the 
blue flicker, then the yellow flame, and a lan- 
tern was lighted. It did not give forth much 
brightness, but he was enabled to count five 
figures. Had one of the men but turned he 
would have seen the lovely, frightened face 
of Kwong Hung as he pressed back against 
the wall, holding the baby in his arms. But 
no one glanced that way. The attention of 
the five was given to the lifting of a trap-door 
in the middle of the floor. At last they had it 
up. The man with the lantern went down first, 
and the room was again in darkness save for 
that faint square of light which came up 
now through the opening in the floor, and 
barely illumined the four remaining figures, 
with their intense yellow faces, their long 
queues, and black garments. 


STEALS AWAY LITTLE KEE WEE 73 

The square of light vanished entirely for 
some moments. There was a period of anx- 
ious waiting. Kwong could hear his own 
heart beating, and the little breathing of Kee 
Wee sounded loud and distinct. It seemed to 
him that his strange companions must discover 
him. 

The open square in the floor became bright 
again as the leader below returned with the 
signal that all was safe. 

One by one, the four above slipped down 
after him. The last was slowly letting down 
the trap-door after him, when, quick as a flash, 
Kwong laid the baby down, and, pulling off 
his sandal, thrust the toe of it under the edge 
of the door. It did not quite close. 

He waited a few moments until all was 
safe, then tugged laboriously at the heavy 
door until he had it wide open once more. A 
ladder led down to the floor below. Holding 
Kee Wee, who clung to him and whimpered 
at being wakened, he descended the ladder 
more by feeling than by seeing, for the lan- 
tern was far down the tunnel by this time. He 
laid Kee Wee on the floor, then climbed up 
again, and, after much trouble, succeeded in 
closing the trap-door once more. 


74 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


But, on going down again, a shock awaited 
him. He felt for Kee Wee. Kee Wee was 
gone. 

“ Kee Wee,” he said, in the faintest of whis- 
pers. It seemed as if all the spirits lurking 
in the black shadows of the corridor caught 
it up. 

“ Kee Wee, Kee Wee,” they mimicked. 

The dull orange gleam of the lantern far 
down became suddenly motionless, as the men 
ahead paused suspiciously. 

There was a moment of terrible silence, then 
the gentle noise of some little creature and a 
scratching sound. 

“ It is a rat,” said the men, reassured, and 
the lantern bobbed on. 

Kwong’s foot touched a soft bundle. He 
stooped and felt it. It was Kee Wee sitting 
on the floor and scratching with his long nails 
at the brick wall in his endeavour to get out. 

He picked him up in his arms, and followed 
the black shadows of the men beyond. Once 
he stumbled and nearly fell over a pipe, and 
stepped ankle-deep into a puddle of water. 
This distressed him, for he knew his white 
stockings and slippers would be stained and 
dirty. 


STEALS AWAY LITTLE KEE WEE 75 

Kee Wee, as if he had a strange instinct for 
danger, clung close as a little mouse to his 
companion. Once, when the lantern was raised 
high and its light shone out for a moment, 
Kwong caught the little fellow’s bright eyes 
fixed on him with so sharp and intelligent a 
gaze that he was startled. 

The tunnel was nearly two blocks long. To 
Kwong it seemed as many miles. Half-way 
through, another tunnel crossed it, and Kwong 
could see that this second passage was faintly 
illumined by light which seemed to come from 
windows on either side. He thought at first 
that he would turn off here, but then decided 
to follow the five men, who had kept on 
straight ahead.. At last they stopped. They 
had arrived at another ladder, leading to a 
door above. It was lifted in answer to the 
three distinct taps they made. The daylight 
streamed down. It was the steam-impregnated 
atmosphere of a laundry ; but not even the blue 
air of the open heavens could have been more 
welcome to Kwong, who leaned back against 
the wall, waiting with beating heart for his 
companions to turn and see him. 

But they, in their eager joy at escaping, 


j6 THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 

had no thought for dangers they might have 
left, and never looked behind to see if they 
were followed. They scrambled up one after 
another. The last man was up, the door was 
beginning to close, when Kwong called out in 
horror. He saw that he might be locked down 
there, he and Kee Wee, to starve in the dark- 
ness. 

At the sound of a boy’s voice calling after 
them the men above were frightened. 

“ It is I, the wretched Kee Kwong Hung, 
escaping with my little cousin from the mur- 
derous knives of the white doctors,” he cried, 
and held up Kee Wee for them to see. 

How the good Chinese laughed when they 
crowded about to look down, and saw Kee 
Wee blinking and cocking his head in the most 
flirtatious manner! 

“ Hi ! hi ! ” they cried, “ here is the little 
rat we heard scratching.” 

“ Come, little rat,” said the pastry cook, 
“ I will make you a citron pie.” 

He lifted him from Kwong’s tired arms. 

Kwong climbed up and sat down in a chair. 
Not even when he washed all the windows for 
Mrs. Payne had he been so tired. 


STEALS AWAY LITTLE KEE WEE 


77 


The men closed and 
fastened the trap- 
door. They were in 
the rear room of a 
laundry-shop outside 
t h e plague-infected 
district. 

The cook carried 
the baby pick-a-pack 
up and down the 
room. It was yet too 
early to leave the 
shop, and they must 
wait until nightfall if 
they would be safe 
from observation. 

The laundry bas- 
kets heaped with clean 
white clothes filled 
the order-loving soul 
of Kwong with peace. 
It quite rested him 
just to watch the pro- 
prietor wielding his 
iron so deftly, and 
blowing out mouth- 



/8 THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 

fuls of water in well-directed sprays. He could 
not resist the temptation to slip off his stock- 
ings and wash them. While they were drying 
he cleaned his jade-green shoes, although they 
would always be stained. He pattered around 
in his bare feet, and felt in great spirits, and 
laughed at the pastry-cook carrying Kee Wee 
up and down on his back. 

They all sat down to a table together, and 
had tea and suey. Kwong remembered the 
grocery boy, and was inspired to wink at the 
pastry-cook, who was much amused, and called 
the attention of his friends to Kwong’s clever- 
ness. 

When all the sky was purple, and not even a 
ray of the sun lingered, the pastry-cook picked 
up Kee Wee, and with Kwong at his side, es- 
corted the two down a side street to the wharf. 
The bell of the ferry was just ringing, and he 
had only time to see them on, when the boat 
started. 

A trail of foam, milky white, marked the 
course of the boat. The sea was very black. 
Above, the stars glittered, and the lighted hills 
of San Francisco rose to meet them until the 
earth itself seemed starry. On the deserted 


STEALS AWAY LITTLE KEE WEE 79 


stern of the boat Kwong sat, holding Kee 
Wee. A chill wind was blowing, but he dared 
not follow the other passengers into the warm 
cabin. He looked in through the windows. 
The long salon was crowded. Many people 
had their arms filled with bundles, and wore 
sprays of glossy green leaves with scarlet 
berries. He thought a festival must be near. 

The wind was piercing cold. He had taken 
off his velvet jacket, and wrapped it around 
Kee Wee. 

Kee Wee was restless, and struggled to get 
down and play about the deck. But Kwong 
held him firmly. 

“See, Kee Wee,” said he, pointing, “ see 
how the lights on the hills are as if the great 
dragon on the yellow flag were there.” Now, 
a famous poet had put that same thought into 
a poem, and written that the San Francisco 
hills looked as though a fiery dragon had 
climbed up out of the sea. This Kwong did 
not know, and he was mightily pleased with 
his fancy. “ There is his head, Kee Wee,” he 
cried, “ and there is his tail. Quick, hide your 
head, or the big dragon will come and eat Kee 
Wee up.” 


So 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


Kee Wee chuckled, and nestled his head in 
Kwong’s neck for all the world as if he really 
understood what his cousin was saying. He 



wished to go to sleep, and Kwong’s neck was 
warm. Could he have spoken he probably 
would have said he had been through a great 
deal for a person as tiny as himself. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH KWONG HUNG IS RESTORED TO 
HAPPINESS 

At last the trip was over, and Kwong, freed 
of the crowd, found himself walking down a 
lonely street of Berkeley. 

After awhile his weary arms and back forced 
him to put Kee Wee on his feet and tell him 
to walk a way. 

The full moon was shining, and in its soft 
light the foot-hills some distance away looked 
like the mountains painted in silver and black 
on Mrs. Kee’s fine silk fan. Some moments 
Kwong stood still. There, not far away, was 
the much-dirt dog; there the friendly, untidy 
eucalyptus-trees ; there his immaculate kitchen, 
to which he would never more return ! 
Then he went on without another backward 
look. 


81 


82 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


They were in a poor quarter of the town, but 
he noticed that all the small homes they passed 
were bright, and that many had the curtains, 
up so as to show green wreaths displayed in 
the window. He wondered, vaguely, if there 
were not a festival going on. Still he did not 
feel so curious, nor even afraid, as he felt dull 
and tired. The consciousness of his clean 
stockings and shoes no longer comforted him. 

But Kee Wee was neither dull nor tired. 
The night was filled with wonder for him, for 
Kee Wee had never seen the night before, nor 
the moon, having always been put to bed while 
it was still light, and the sun was bright over 
the gay roofs of Chinatown. He thought now 
that the moon was still the same sun, only some- 
how different. He held his head so far back 
that it gave his neck a little crook, and watched 
the strange sun with delight. Several times he 
stumbled, and fell down, but he picked himself 
up quite contentedly, and toddled along by 
Kwong’s side. 

His lips moved in a vague attempt to articu- 
late some sound which would express his 
amazement. He liked this sun better than the 
other sun, for at that he could not look with- 
out squinting up his eyes. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 83 

His attention, as he picked himself up the 
fifth time, was attracted by an object in front 
of him. It was his kite, his dear kite! Only 
it, too, was different, just as the sun was. 
It was not pretty and bright scarlet and green 
any longer, but all black. He ran to get it, 
and the kite ran ahead of him along the 
ground. He paused, out of breath, and looked 
down, and, behold, there it was just at his 
feet. So, breathing hard, but triumphant, he 
bent to lift it. His fingers brought up only a 
pinch of dust. Again and again, he tried, but 
the kite only eluded him, and a splinter from 
the sidewalk ran into his thumb. All at once 
Kee Wee lifted up his voice, and wept. For 
the first time his little soul knew fear. The 
strange sun and the black kite frightened him. 

“ You bad Kee Wee,” cried Kwong, angrily, 
for grief gnawed at his heart, and made him 
cross, “ stop crying, or a great rat will come, 
and eat you.” 

Kee Wee drew his breath, sobbingly, and 
pointed to the black kite. 

Kwong looked and looked to see what he 
meant. Then he laughed, for Kee Wee was 
pointing to his own midget shadow with the 


8 4 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


points of his cap looking like devil’s horns. 
It was that which had scared him. But 
Kwong’s heart was very tender, in spite of his 
annoyance, and he picked Kee Wee up again 
in his aching arms, and to please him sang a 
song about a baby boy, whose Chinese name 
meant Little Blue Plum. This is something 
the way the first verse went : 

The fireflies go, 

The fireflies come. 

Ha, ha, little Blue Plum. 

We’ll catch them fast, 

As they fly past. 

Ha, ha, little Blue Plum. 

Kee Wee peeked up, cautiously, with just 
one eye. The black kite that had frightened 
him was gone. And up in the sky the strange 
sun was laughing at him. Then he closed his 
eye up quick, and hid his face once more in 
Kwong’s neck. 

We’ll tie them in 
A paper bag thin. 

Ha, ha, little Blue Plum. 

And there all night 
They’ll give us light. 

Ha, ha, little Blue Plum. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 85 

Sang Kwong, shifting his small burden to his 
other shoulder. 

But when the sun 
Begins to glow, 

We’ll tear the bag 
And let them go ! 

Ha, ha, little Blue Plum, 

Ha, ha, little Blue Plum ! 

It was all very queer Chinese singing, in 
Kwong’s monotonous falsetto voice. But it 
comforted Kee Wee, and gave him courage 
to open his sleepy eyes once more. And, be- 
hold, his blinking eyes saw no sun this time, 
but his father’s great, kind, yellow face, swim- 
ming in the deep blue sky. 

So he fell asleep, and dreamed he was eat- 
ing his kite, which had turned into a white 
cat with red frosting. 

Kwong had now reached a vacant lot, and 
just beyond was the mission school. The 
moonlight fell softly on the field, and the air 
was so bright and clear that he could see some 
cows plainly as they lay on the ground. He 
also noticed how low one star of unusual 
beauty hung in the sky, just above the school. 

He reached the door. Something unusual 


86 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


was happening. There was laughter, and the 
buzz of suppressed excitement. His own 
heart began to beat, half with fear, half with 
pleasurable anticipation. He opened the door 
just a crack, and looked in. 

Then he knew. It was Christmas Eve. In 
his trouble he had forgotten it. This was the 
time of good things, and of joy. He saw his 
teacher at the end of the room, in a dress that 
was all pink and fluffy. Beside her on the 
platform was the most wonderful tree he had 
ever seen. It reached to the ceiling. Little 
candles glowed on it, brighter than the green 
glowworms of a summer night. At the top 
was she who brings good fortune, wearing tin- 
sel wings, and skirts so short as to show two 
long, slim, paper legs, standing a-tiptoe. She 
was like the goddesses of the playhouses, 
whose pictures the white devils pasted on tall 
fences and the backs of barns. Packages were 
piled up on the floor, and some hung from the 
tree. Long strings of scarlet cranberries and 
popcorn, white as snow, were festooned from 
the branches. 

His teacher saw him peering in at the door. 
She smiled, and came down and drew him in. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 87 

“ I was wondering where you were, Kwong,” 
she said. “Oh, where did you get that precious 
baby ? Isn’t she cunning ! ” 

“ Plis you,” said Kwong, smiling proudly, 
“ him much boy.” 

“ I see,” she said, and laughed. “ Sit well 
up in front.” 

But Kwong took his seat far back, for all 
his shyness had returned. About him were 
his friends. They nodded to him, little guess- 
ing his adventures, but they were curious about 
the baby, and craned their heads to see it, for 
the Chinese love children better than anything 
else in the world. All the scholars were called 
boys, though they were most of them full- 
grown men. Kwong was by far the youngest ; 
and the oldest was a withered-up little man, 
quite toothless, and with a short, bristly gray 
beard. He studied for the love of scholarship. 
They all had their hats off, and were a sombre 
group in their black garments, long queues, and 
yellow faces. 

Kwong tried to shake Kee Wee awake, but 
in vain. He clung to his beautiful dreams. 
So the little old scholar moved over, and 
Kwong tucked the baby snugly on the seat 


88 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


between them, wrapped warm in the velvet 
jacket. 

They all sang a hymn, and then a tall white 
devil in black clothes stood up, and said a long 
prayer, and they all put their hands over their 
eyes as they had been taught. But Kwong 
peeked through his fingers, and tittered at the 
old scholar who was listening so meekly. For, 
without being able to tell why, Kwong hated 
prayers. 

The teacher called Kwong up to the plat- 
form to recite a piece she had taught him. 
There was a whimper from Kee Wee, as the 
velvet jacket was dragged from under him. 
What, should Kee Kwong Hung, he, the 
lovely Rosy Dawn, go up and speak his piece 
without his fine jacket? Should one so beauti- 
ful be seen without fit adorning ? So reasoned 
Kwong, and he w r as not a whit touched by 
Kee Wee’s feeble protest at being left on the 
hard, cold bench. He was thankful he had 
washed his stockings in the laundry. Then 
blushing, casting down his eyes modestly, and 
straining his ears to catch admiring comments, 
he went up on the platform, and recited his 
piece. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 89 

It was all about a little baby who was the 
god of the white devils, and he said the words 
in such a timid whisper, and blushed so rosily, 
that the teacher and her friends clapped their 
hands, and the “ boys ” laughed with delight 
and pride in their fellow, for Kwong was not 
only the youngest of the school, but, with the 
exception of the withered-up old man, he bade 
fair to be the finest scholar. Then another of 
the scholars, who kept a prosperous vegetable 
garden on the outskirts of the town, was called 
upon to read. Kwong, who had taken his seat 
again, listened jealously. How well he read, 
how easily his tongue glided over the English 
words ! Kwong Hung scowled, his very 
cheeks seemed burning with displeasure. The 
scholar turned the page and read smoothly the 
next paragraph. 

“ Lai him yat p’in ! ” cried out Kwong, 
excitedly, “ lai him yat p’in ! ” which meant 
in Chinese, “ He skipped a page in reading ! ” 

The poor scholar was much embarrassed, 
and he turned back the page humbly, and 
went on reading, but now his tongue stumbled 
in his mortification. But Kee Kwong Hung 
sat preening and smiling. He had once more 


9 o 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


exploited his own cleverness before the whole 
class. 

After these recitations there was a long 
pause in the festivities. Every one seemed to 
be waiting expectantly. Kwong was much ex- 
cited. The outer door opened, and two ladies 
entered. He was much startled to perceive 
that one of them was Mrs. Payne. But she 
did not see him, and went over and sat down 
on the far side of the room. 

In a moment the door opened again, and 
this time a most wonderful old man entered. 
For one moment Kwong experienced a terrible 
fright, and clutched Kee Wee, to be able to 
flee with him at a moment’s notice. But he 
was reassured by the serene faces of his com- 
panions. Why, of course, this was the big 
god of the white devils. His mind was filled 
with wonder, and his thought reverted to the 
old man who had risen like a ghost, by the gold 
ship, early that morning, and helped him. For 
him he had felt such reverence that he was 
constrained to make obeisance, even as the 
noble Fong Foo had done. That ancient man, 
shadowy, mysterious as the gray fog which 
brought him, was very different from this one. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 


9 1 


Truly this old man had a white beard, but his 
nose was red and so were his smiling cheeks, 
while he could scarcely walk for his great 
stomach. Over his back was a pack filled with 
pink and blue bags of candy. His coat was 
red; cotton, like snow, clung to it, and bells 
jingled down the seams of his trousers. 

Kwong was so disappointed he could have 
wept. He had wanted to see the little baby 
god of the white devils best. Had not his 
teacher told him it was on this night of the 
long year that the baby god came down from 
heaven? Moreover, she had shown Kwong 
a picture of him in his mother’s arms, with 
the cattle standing about, and the big god 
seated upon the clouds in the sky, looking 
down on them. And now the big god had 
come instead of the baby god. Kwong eyed 
him resentfully as he went up on the plat- 
form. 

But who could resist him, however, when 
he commenced to call out the names in a queer, 
squeaky voice, and to load every scholar with 
gifts? Kwong found himself laughing with 
the rest, and eager for his turn. His name 
was called at last. 


92 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


The big god turned to him as he came up. 

“ Kwong Hung,” squeaked he, “ I didn’t 
expect to see you here, but let me see what 
we have on the tree for you.” And he began 
to search among the branches of the tree. 

But the voice did not deceive Kwong this 
time, nor the fat cheeks and red nose, nor the 
great white beard. Back of the holes in what 
he now perceived to have been a mask, he 
saw the terrible blue eyes of Doctor Payne. 

In that instant he saw it all. His master 
had disguised himself to spy him out, to kill 
him with his evil medicine. In that moment 
Kwong saw the uselessness of his attempting 
to escape. He must die. Then he remem- 
bered Kee Wee. What of him? Ah, he must 
save Kee Wee! 

He drew his dagger out so quickly that 
scarcely any one caught the bright gleam of 
the grinning sea-dragon on the handle be- 
fore he plunged it into the doctor. The blow 
was followed by another and another, and still 
another. How splendidly he struck for the 
sake of Kee Wee! Darkness, like the shadow 
of the Black Plague, swam before his dizzy 
eyes. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 


93 



jrbHPmn* • 


A shriek rang through the school. It came 
from Mrs. Payne. She ran and tried to drag 
Kwong away from her husband. 


94 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


From the gaping wounds made by the dag- 
ger out flew a mass of feathers. 

Doctor Payne grasped the little fellow’s 
arm, and held him powerless, the dagger sus- 
pended in the air. 

The blackness that had been before K wong’s 
eyes cleared, but what was this annoying and 
puzzling clouds of feathers that flew in his 
face, that filled the air, that stifled him? 

How could he guess that they came from 
a big pillow inside the doctor’s coat ? He only 
realised that he had struck to kill, and failed. 

For a moment the two stared at each other. 
Then the almond eyes of the little servant fell, 
and he thrust up his chest with a deep breath, 
and extended the murderous knife. For his 
enemy was a mightier man than he, and he 
knew that the very instant of his death had 
come. 

A blaze of flaming bunting swept across 
him. In the struggle the cloth which had fes- 
tooned the sides of the platform was torn down 
and had caught on the candles of the tree. He 
became conscious only of a terror of the heat, 
that Doctor Payne was calling to him not to 
struggle, and then, what with emotion and 
terror, he fainted away. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 


95 


When he came to himself again, many 
hours after, he was in a cool white bed, in a 
large room. And he thought he saw other 
little beds about him, but was not sure. His 
hands felt big and puffed. They were all 
swathed in cotton. He tried to raise his head, 
but let it fall again, frowning for the pain. 

There was some one standing near him. 

“ Plis you,” he said, “ where Kee Wee? ” 

“ He wants to see the baby,” spoke a voice. 

And then he saw Kee Wee lifted up into the 
morning sunshine, on the foot of the bed, Kee 
Wee, too absorbed in a new top to notice 
Kwong, his baby lips pursed together in the 
effort to pull the bright red and yellow play- 
thing apart. But the sight of him was enough 
for Kwong. 

“ How you is dis day, much no good Kee 
Wee ? ” he said, feebly jesting, remembering 
the gods, and therefore not praising the baby. 

Kee Wee did not know the weak voice, nor 
recognise the pale face and bandaged head on 
the pillow, the scarlet-silk braided queue coiled 
above. So he cocked his head, coquettishly, on 
one side at the stranger, and, in excess of de- 
light, flung the top at him. 


9 6 THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 

It just missed Kwong’ s eye. Kee Wee, 
gurgling with joy, scrambled up over the bed- 
clothes to recover the top, that he might throw 
it again. 

But a pair of unseen hands lifted him down 
on the floor. 

Some one bent over Kwong. “ I guess we’re 
going to pull you through, my boy.” 

He looked up into the face of Doctor Payne, 
who smiled down on him. He saw that one of 
the young man’s hands was bandaged, that the 
hair was singed about his forehead. 

The sight of that bandaged hand, the young 
man’s smile, sent a strange feeling over 
Kwong, stranger than he had ever known. 
For the first time in his life he was wholly 
unafraid in the presence of a white devil. His 
terror of blue eyes vanished beneath the gaze 
of those now bent on him. He remembered 
the cruel, scorching flames of the night before, 
felt again, in imagination, the kind hands that 
saved him, the voice bidding him not to 
struggle. He turned his head to one side, 
whispering. 

“ What is it, Kwong? ” asked Payne, gently, 
bending over him. 


IS RESTORED TO HAPPINESS 97 

Kwong Hung lifted feebly one swathed 
hand, and touched his chest. 

“ I have sorrow here,” he whispered, pite- 
ously, “ de knife he gif you pain. I have sor- 
row here. Plis you not angry wif me dis 
now? ” 

“ That’s all right, Kwong,” said the young 
man, heartily. “ See what a splendid Christ- 
mas Day this is ! ” He pushed up the curtain. 

Vague thoughts passed through Kwong’s 
mind. In a confused way he connected his 
pretty mission school lady’s teaching with the 
doctor’s kindness. He knew it all had some- 
thing to do with the little baby god, whom 
he had been so disappointed not to see. The 
shadow of the Black Plague passed out of his 
heart, all fear left him. He felt so safe in the 
little white bed. And he knew now, without 
need of assurance, that all in good time he 
would return to his kitchen and the eucalyp- 
tus-trees, and clasp once more to his breast the 
fluffy body of the much-dirt dog. The colour, 
which had given him his beautiful name, came 
back, oh, so faintly, into his pale face. The 
lids drooped shyly over his liquid almond eyes. 


9 8 


THE FLIGHT OF ROSY DAWN 


But he had the courage of his warmly beating 
little heart. 

“ Melly Clistmas,” said Kee Kwong Hung, 
smiling timidly, and forgetting all about his 
r’s! 


THE END. 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
contain only the very highest and purest literature, — 
stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- 
selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
them in their joys and sorrows, — stories that shall be 
most particularly adapted for reading aloud in the 
family circle. 

The numerous illustrations in each book are by well- 
known artists, and each volume has a separate attract- 
ive cover design. 

Each, i vol., i 6 mo, cloth $0.50 

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

The Little Colonel. 

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its 
heroine is a small girl, who is known as the Little 
Colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an 
old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and 
old family are famous in the region. This old Colonel 
proves to be the grandfather of the child. 

The Giant Scissors. 

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in 
France, — the wonderful house with the gate of The 
Giant Scissors, Jules, her little playmate, Sister Denisa, 
the cruel Brossard, and her dear Aunt Kate. Joyce is 
a great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes 
shares with her the delightful experiences of the “ House 
Party” and the “ Holidays.” 


2 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON (Continued) 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky, 

Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors. 

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an 
old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is 
not, however, the central figure of the story, that place 
being taken by the “ two little knights,” Malcolm and 
Keith, little Southern aristocrats, whose chivalrous na- 
tures lead them through a series of interesting adven- 
tures. 

Cicely and Other Stories for Girls. 

The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles 
will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for 
young people, written in the author’s sympathetic and 
entertaining manner. 

Big Brother. 

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of 
Steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the 
theme of the simple tale, the pathos and beauty of 
which has appealed to so many thousands. 

Ole Mammy’s Torment. 

“Ole Mammy’s Torment” has been fitly called “a 
classic of Southern life.” It relates the haps and mis- 
haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by 
love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. 

The Story of Dago. 

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, 
a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago 
tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis- 
haps is both interesting and amusing. 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


3 


By EDITH ROBINSON 

A Little Puritan’s First Christmas : 

A Story of Colonial Times in Boston. 

A story of Colonial .times in Boston, telling how 
Christmas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child 
of the Puritans, aided by her “ unregenerate ” brother, 
Sam. 

A Little Daughter of Liberty. 

The author’s motive for this story is well indicated 
by a quotation from her introduction, as follows : 

“ One ride is memorable in the early history of the 
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul 
Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is another 
ride, — untold in verse or story, its records preserved 
only in family papers or shadowy legend, the ride of 
Anthony Severn was no less historic in its action or 
memorable in its consequences.” 

A Loyal Little flaid. 

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary 
days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, 
renders important services to George Washington and 
Alexander Hamilton, and in the end becomes the wife of 
the latter. 

A Little Puritan Rebel. 

Like Miss Robinson’s successful story of “ A Loyal 
Little Maid,” this is another historical tale of a real girl, 
during the time when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was 
governor of Massachusetts. 

A Little Puritan Pioneer. 

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settle- 
ment at Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds 
another to the list of favorites so well known to the 
young people in “ A Little Puritan Rebel,” etc. 


4 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramde ) 

A Dog of Flanders : a Christmas Story. 
Too well and favorably known to require description. 

The Niirnberg Stove. 

This beautiful story has never before been published 
at a popular price. 

A Provence Rose. 

A story perfect in sweetness and in grace. 

Findelkind. 

A charming story about a little Swiss herdsman. 

By MISS MULOCK 

The Little Lame Prince. 

A delightful story of a little boy who has many adven- 
tures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. 

Adventures of a Brownie. 

The story of a household elf who torments the cook 
and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the 
children who love and trust him. 

His Little Mother. 

Miss Mulock’s short stories for children are a constant 
source of delight to them, and “ His Little Mother,” in 
this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts 
of youthful readers. 

Little Sunshine’s Holiday. 

An attractive story of a summer outing. “ Little Sun- 
shine” is another of those beautiful child-characters for 
which Miss Mulock is so justly famous. 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


I 


By JULIANA HO RATI A EWING 

Jackanapes. 

A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite 
and touching story, dear alike to young and old. 

Story of a Short Life. 

This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. 
It is a part of the world’s literature, and will never die. 

A Great Emergency. 

How a family of children prepared for a great emer- 
gency, and how they acted when the emergency came. 

The Trinity Flower. 

In this little volume are collected three of Mrs. 
Ewing’s best short stories for the young people. 

Madam Liberality. 

From her cradle up Madam Liberality found her 
chief delight in giving. 

By ERANCES MARGARET FOX 

The Little Giant’s Neighbors. 

A charming nature story of a “ little giant ” whose 
neighbors were the creatures of the field and garden. 

Farmer Brown and the Birds. 

A little story which teaches children that the birds are 
man’s best friends. Miss Fox has an intimate knowl- 
edge of bird life and has written a little book which 
should take rank with “ Black Beauty ” and “ Beautiful 
Joe.” 

Betty of Old Mackinaw. 

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to 
the little readers who like stories of “ real people.” 


6 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE 

The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow. 

This story, written by the gifted young Southern 
woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of 
the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style. 

The Fortunes of the Fellow. 

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm 
of “The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow” will welcome 
the further account of the “ Adventures of Baydaw and 
the Fellow” at the home of the kindly smith among the 
Green Hills of Tennessee. 

By FRANCES HODGES WHITE 

Helena’s Wonderworld. 

A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in 
the mysterious regions beneath the sea. 

Aunt Nabby’s Children. 

This pretty little story, touched with the simple humo. - 
of country life, tells of two children, who, adopted by 
Aunt Nabby, have also won their way into the affections 
of the village squire. 

By CHARLES LEE SLEIGHT 

The Prince of the Pin Elves. 

A fascinating story of the underground adventures of 
a sturdy, reliant American boy among the elves and 
gnomes. 

The Water People. 

A companion volume and in a way a sequel to “ The 
Prince of the Pin Elves,” relating the adventures of 
“Harry” among the “water people.” While it has the 
same characters as the previous book, the story is com- 
plete in itself. 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


7 


By OTHER AC/THORS 

The Story of Rosy Dawn. By Pau- 
line Bradford Mackie. 

The Christmas of little Wong Jan, or “ Rosy Dawn,” 
a young Celestial of San Francisco, is the theme of this 
pleasant little story. 

Susanne. By Frances J. Delano. 

This little story will recall in sweetness and appealing 
charm the work of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Laura E. 
Richards. 

nillicent in Dreamland. By Edna s. 

Brainerd. 

The quaintness and fantastic character of Millicent’s 
adventures in Dreamland have much of the fascination 
of “ Alice in Wonderland,” and all small readers of 
“ Alice ” will enjoy making Millicent’s acquaintance. 

Jerry’s Adventures. By Evelyn Snead 
Barnett. 

This is an interesting and wholesome little story of 
the change that came over the thoughtless imps on Jef- 
ferson Square when they learned to know the stout- 
hearted Jerry and his faithful Peggy. 

A Bad Penny. By John T. Wheelwright. 

No boy should omit reading this vivid story of the 
New England of 1812. 

Gatty and I. By Frances E. Crompton. 

The small hero and heroine of this little story are 
twins, “strictly brought up.” It is a sweet and whole- 
some little story. 


8 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Fairy of the Rhone. By A. Comyns 

Carr. 

Here is a fairy story indeed, one of old-fashioned pure 
delight. It is most gracefully told, and accompanied by 
charming illustrations. 

A Small Small Child. By E. Livingston 
Prescott. 

“ A Small Small Child ” is a moving little tale of 
sweet influence, more powerful than threats or punish- 
ments, upon a rowdy of the barracks. 

Peggy's Trial. By Mary Knight Potter. 

Peggy is an impulsive little woman of ten, whose 
rebellion from a mistaken notion of loyalty, and her sub- 
sequent reconciliation to the dreaded “ new mother,” are 
most interestingly told. 

For His Country, By Marshall Saunders, 
author of “ Beautiful Joe,” etc. 

A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved 
his country; written with that charm which has endeared 
Miss Saunders to hosts of readers. 

La Belle Nivernaise. the story of an 

Old Boat and Her Crew. By Alphonse 
Daudet. 

All who have read it will be glad to welcome an old 
favorite, and new readers will be happy to have it 
brought to their friendly attention. 

Wee Dorothy. By Laura updegraff. 

A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion 
of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and 
setting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the 
story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether 
wholesome in every way. 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


9 


Rab and His Friends. By Dr. John 

Brown. 

Doctor Brown’s little masterpiece is too well known 
to need description. The dog Rab is loved by all. 

The Adventures of Beatrice and 

Jessie. By Richard Mansfield. 

The story of two little girls who were suddenly trans- 
planted into the “ realms of unreality,” where they met 
with many curious and amusing adventures. 

A Child's Garden of Verses. By r. 

L. Stevenson. 

Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to 
need description. It will be heartily welcomed in this 
new and attractive edition. 

Little King Davie. By Nellie Hellis. 

The story of a little crossing-sweeper, that will make 
many boys thankful they are not in the same position. 
Davie’s accident, hospital experiences, conversion, and 
subsequent life, are of thrilling interest. 

The Sleeping Beauty, a modern ver- 
sion. By Martha B. Dunn. 

This charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine, 
intellectually “asleep” until she meets the “Fairy 
Prince,” reminds us of “ Ouida ” at her best. 

The Young Archer. By Charles E. Brim- 

BLECOM. 

A strong and wholesome story of a boy who accom- 
panied Columbus on his voyage to the New World. 
His loyalty and services through vicissitudes and dan- 
gers endeared him to the great discoverer, and the 
account of his exploits will be interesting to all boys. 


IO L. C. PAGE &= CO’S. COSY CORNER SERIES 


The Making of Zimri Bunker: a 

Tale of Nantucket. By W. J. Long, Ph. D. 

This is a charming story of Nantucket folk by a 
young clergyman who is already well known through 
his contributions to the Youth's Companion , St. Nicho- 
las, and other well-known magazines. The story deals 
with a sturdy American fisher lad, during the war of 
1812. 

The King of the Golden River: a 

Legend of Stiria. By John Ruskin. 

Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally 
intended for publication, this little fairy tale soon 
became known and made a place for itself. 


Little Peterkin Vandike. By Charles 

Stuart Pratt. 

The author’s dedication furnishes a key to this charm- 
ing story : 

“ I dedicate this book, made for the amusement (and 
perchance instruction) of the boys who may read it, to 
the memory of one boy, who would have enjoyed as 
much as Peterkin the plays of the Poetry Party, but 
who has now marched, as they will march one day, out 
of the ranks of boyhood into the ranks of young man- 
hood.” 


Will o’ the Hill. By Robert Louis 
Stevenson. 

An allegorical story by this inimitable and versatile 
writer. Its rare poetic quality, its graceful and delicate 
fancy, its strange power and fascination, justify its 
separate publication. 


THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES 

By MARY HAZELTON WADE 

SECOND SERIES 

The great success and prompt appreciation which this 
charming little series met last season has led to its continua- 
tion this year with a new set of child characters from other 
lands, each as original and delightful as the little foreign 
cousins with whom the little cousins at home became ac- 
quainted in last season’s series. 

Six volumes, as follows : 

Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little African Cousin 

Each i vol., i2mo, cloth decorative, with 6 full-page 

illustrations in tints by L. J. Bridgman. 

Price, per volume . . . $0.50 net (postage extra) 

Price, per set, 6 vols., boxed . 3.00 net (postage extra) 

“ Boys and girls, reading the tales of these little cousins in 
different parts of the world, will gain considerable knowledge of 
geography and the queer customs that are followed among 
strange people.” — Chicago Evening Post. 

“ Not only are the books interesting, but they are entertain- 
ingly instructive as well, and when entertainment can sugar-coat 
instruction, the book is one usually well worth placing in the 
hands of those to whom the knowledge will be useful.” — Utica 
Observer. 

“ To many youthful minds this little series of books may open 
up the possibilities of a foreign world to which they had been 
total strangers. And interest in this wider sphere, the beyond 
and awayness, may bear rich fruit in the future.” — N. Y. Com- 
mercial Advertiser . 


THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES 

By MARY HAZELTON WADE 

FIRST SERIES 

These are the most interesting and delightful accounts 
possible of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint say- 
ings, doings, and adventures. The “ Little Japanese 
Cousin,” with her toys in her wide sleeve and her tiny bag of 
paper handkerchiefs ; the “ Little Brown Cousin,” in whose 
home the leaves of the breadfruit-tree serve for plates and 
the halves of the cocoanut shells for cups ; the “ Little 
Indian Cousin,” who lives the free life of the forest, and the 
“ Little Russian Cousin,” who dwells by the wintry Neva, 
are truly fascinating characters to the little cousins who 
will read about them. 

Four volumes, as follows : 

Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Brown Cousin 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 

Each i vol., i2mo, cloth decorative, with 6 full-page 

illustrations in tints, by L. J. Bridgman. 

Price, per volume . . . $0.50 net (postage extra) 

Price, per set, 4 vols., boxed . 2.00 net (postage extra) 

“Juveniles will get a whole world of pleasure and instruction 
out of Mary Hazelton Wade’s Little Cousin Series. . . . Pleas- 
ing narratives give pictures of the little folk in the far-away lands 
in their duties and pleasures, showing their odd ways of playing, 
studying, their queer homes, clothes, and playthings. . . • The 
style of the stories is all that can be desired for entertainment, 
the author describing things in a very real and delightful 
fashion.” — Detroit News - Tribune. 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


The Little Colonel’s House Party. By 

Annie Fellows Johnston. Illustrated by Louis Meynell. 
One vol., library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . $1.00 

The Little Colonel’s Holidays. By Annie 

Fellows Johnston. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. 

One vol., large 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . $1.50 

The Little Colonel’s Hero. By Annie fel- 

lows Johnston. 

One vol., large i2mo, cloth decorative, fully illus- 
trated ..... $1.20 net (postage extra) 

In these three stories Mrs. Johnston once more introduces 
us to the “ Little Colonel,” the dainty maiden who has already 
figured as the heroine of two previous stories, “ The Little 
Colonel” and “Two Little Knights of Kentucky,” and who 
has won her way into the hearts of old and young alike. She 
is more winsome and lovable than ever. 

Since the time of “ Little Women,” no juvenile heroine has 
been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs. Johnston’s 
“ Little Colonel.” 

A Puritan Knight Errant. By Edith robin- 

son, author of “ A Little Puritan Pioneer,” “ A Little Puri- 
tan’s First Christmas,” “ A Little Puritan Rebel,” etc. 
Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated 

$1.20 net (postage extra). 
The charm of style and historical value of Miss Robinson’s 
previous stories of child life in Puritan days have brought 
them wide popularity. Her latest and most important book 
appeals to a large juvenile public. The “ knight errant ” of 
this story is a little Don Quixote, whose trials and their ulti- 
mate outcome will prove deeply interesting to their reader. 


2 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


Ye Lyttle Salem Maide: A Story of Witch- 
craft. By Pauline Bradford Mackie. 

New illustrated edition. 

One volume, large i2mo, cloth, gilt top . . . $1.50 

A tale of the days of the reign of superstition in New Eng- 
land, and of a brave “lyttle maide,” of Salem Town, whose 
faith and hope and unyielding adherence to her word of honor 
form the basis of a most attractive story. A very convincing 
•picture is drawn of Puritan life during the latter part of the 
seventeenth century. 

In Kings’ Houses : a tale of the days of 
Queen Anne. By Julia C. R. Dorr, author of “ A 
Cathedral Pilgrimage,” etc. 

New illustrated edition. 

One volume, large 1 2mo, cloth, gilt top . . . $1.50 

The story deals with one of the most romantic episodes in 
English history. Queen Anne, the last of the reigning Stuarts,, 
is described with a strong yet sympathetic touch, and the 
young Duke of Gloster, the “ little lady,” and the hero of the 
tale, Robin Sandys, are delightful characterizations. 

Gulliver’s Bird Book. Being the Newly Dis- 
covered Strange Adventures of Lemuel Gulliver, 
Now for the First Time Described and Illus- 
trated. By L. J. Bridgman, author of “ Mother Goose 
and Her Wild Beast Show,” etc. 

With upwards of 100 illustrations in color, large 
quarto, cloth ........ $1.50 

This is a most amusing and original book, illustrated with 
startlingly odd and clever drawings. If we may accept the 
account given in the preface, that renowned explorer, Lemuel 
Gulliver, left behind him certain memoirs which have re- 
mained unknown to the public up to the present day. Hav- 
ing now been brought to light and given to the world, these 
records establish beyond a doubt their author’s claim to be 
regarded as the discoverer of the Bouncing Ballazoon and a 
host of other creatures unknown to Darwin and Huxley. 



JUN121902 

1 COPY DEL. TO CAT, DIV. 
JUN, 13 1902 







